The stars, with deep amaze, Bending one way their precious influence; For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear [bear. Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then, That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal finger strook; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, [close. With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly VOL. VII. B b Nature, that heard such sound, Of Cynthia's seat, the aëry region thrilling, To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shamefac'd night ar The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, [ray'd; Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, [Heir With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow; And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the' angelic symphony. For if such holy song Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steer And Heaven, as at some festival, [ing; Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says no, This must not yet be so; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That, on the bitter cross, Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep, [the deep; The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins: for, from this happy day, The' old Dragon, under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb; No voice, or hideous hum, Runs through the arched roof, in words deceiving: Apollo, from his shrine, Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale, Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn, [mourn. The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, [mourn. In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance, about the furnace blue: The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste, Nor is Osiris seen, In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; [loud: Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrel'd anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worship'd ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. |